His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. ‘Forgive me, Mrs Sindlesham, but do you tell me this inheritance that Melusine has fought so hard to recover is completely wasted?’ The old lady gave him a sharp look. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents.
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